by Candy Harper
Finn just smiled at everyone. His sunny, surfer’s heart seems to mean that he can’t see the bad in anyone. Which is sweet I suppose, but not as funny as when Ethan said, ‘You’d better look after your dog, Finn, these girls are looking for some fresh hair extensions.’
One of the Mingers (who apparently was called Cherry – yes, Cherry) said, ‘You’re Finn, right? Hey, you lot should all come to our Christmas Fayre this afternoon.’ She said ‘you lot’ but she was looking at Finn.
Finn shrugged.
Westy said, ‘Ladies, if you want to sit on a chubby man’s lap you don’t need to go to a poxy Christmas Fayre to see Santa, just form an orderly queue.’
Actually, as Cherry explained to us at great length, the fayre was not going to be poxy. It was being opened by a soap star. There was going to be an ice rink and snow machine and a chocolate fountain and a fairground. Westy blushed and Ethan said, ‘Is all this so you can raise money for new diamond mobile phone charms?’
Cherry said, ‘Actually at St Mildred’s we like to give back to the community . . .’
Megs said, ‘More like put out to the community.’
‘. . . so we’re using the funds to help fill Christmas boxes for old people.’
I snuck a look at Finn to see if he was impressed with this combination of cleavage and charity, but it’s very hard to read his facial expressions. He was squinting a bit, but that may have been the sun in his eyes.
Westy said, ‘Faith’s doing that too. She’s doing really well.’
Which just goes to show that Ethan is right about Westy’s lack of judgement. As if I wanted that girl knowing my business.
Cherry said, ‘Yeah? How many boxes you got?’
Westy didn’t hesitate. ‘’Bout five hundred, isn’t it, Faith?’
The awful thing was that I could see that Westy was trying to be nice, whereas in actual fact he was just giving me another reason to want to strangle him.
Cherry raised a very plucked eyebrow. She said, ‘I bet we get more boxes than you.’
I said, ‘It’s touching the way you never lose sight of the old people.’
Cherry shook back her hair and looked down her nose at me. ‘I can see why you’d be into charity work. You’re that girl that got stood up at th—’
Ethan interrupted. ‘Faith will beat you.’
Cherry turned on me with a sneer, but before she could say anything else Ethan grabbed my elbow and pulled me up. ‘We’re going to get a drink,’ he said and dragged me away. I hardly had time to be upset by Cherry’s remark (although I did manage to squeeze in a quick daydream of her new boobs exploding). I was quite touched that Ethan had stood up for me like that.
We walked to the little café on the other side of the park and Ethan bought me a coffee.
‘Don’t take any notice,’ he said. ‘They’re just trying to wind you up.’
‘It’s all right. I’ve learnt to tune out the squeaky pitch those girls talk at.’
‘Girls? I don’t really think of them as girls. In my mind they’re like those dinosaurs, you know, the ones that walk on their back legs and do that shrill screamy noise and run around taking bites out of other dinosaurs.’
I snorted. ‘It must be quite a place in your mind.’
‘You should have a look round one day. I’d probably have to have a bit of a tidy-up first. I wouldn’t want you fainting when you saw what I keep in the furthest recesses.’
See, that is what I like about Ethan. He knows how to have a proper nonsense conversation. I thought that we were having a great time, so I was a bit disappointed when he said we should go back. What does that mean? Did he not enjoy talking to me?
We found the others on the swings. The St Mingers had gone and so had Megs. Westy was attempting to use the seesaw as a slide and while everyone was laughing I said to Lily, ‘What’s happened to Megs?’
‘I’m not sure, but she was pulling this face a bit.’ Then she pulled Megs’s look-at-me-smiling-I’m-not-at-all-about-to-cry face.
I said, ‘I’d better be off.’
So I abandoned the laughy good times in the park to go and see what was the matter with Megs.
She opened her front door and said, ‘Oh, is that you?’
I said, ‘Of course it’s me.’ And barged my way in.
‘I just thought that since I desperately need to talk to you, you might have disappeared off with your fancy man to drink cappuccinos.’
I settled myself on her sofa. ‘What is that supposed to mean? I only disappeared off because that annoying girl was going on at me and anyway I thought I’d left you happy enough with your Cameron.’
‘He’s not my Cameron. He . . . he . . .’
And then she started blubbering, so I was forced to say, ‘What’s the matter, sweetie? It’s all right. You tell me what he’s done and I’ll sort him out, Megsie.’
‘He said . . . he said . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘He said, “I might go to that Christmas Fayre.”’
I was shocked speechless.
‘I think he wanted to see that Cherry girl again,’ she added.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, “Fine”.’
‘Oh, dear, Megs, boys are not the sensitive, perceptive creatures that girls are. They don’t understand the subtleties of human communication. When you say “fine” I am afraid that they are silly enough to think that what you mean is “fine”.’
‘Really? But I said it in quite a stroppy way.’
‘Unfortunately, they are also deaf to tone of voice. He probably thinks you were telling him to go along and have a jolly old time with the Cherry-tart.’
At this point Megs burst into noisy sobs again and I realised that I might need to rethink my plan to make her feel better.
I’m worried about Megs. She is fragile and needs careful handling. I rang her up this morning to help her through her difficult time.
I said, ‘Listen you loser, I am out of M&M’s. Pick some up and get yourself round here.’
‘I haven’t got any money and what was the other thing? Oh yes, I am heartbroken and unable to leave my bed of tears.’
‘We both know that my bed is much more comfortable than yours—’
‘That’s because you ruined my mattress the last time you were round here.’
‘If your mattress can’t take being converted into a bouncy slide then you seriously need to think about upgrading. Anyway, stop your snivelling and listen to me being supportive. You need to come over, so I can sort your life out.’
‘Why can’t you come round here?’
‘I can’t be bothered to get out of my PJs.’
Megs made it eventually, although without the requested sweeties. I was very kind and pointed out that Megs is much more attractive than any St Minger. ‘For example,’ I told her, ‘all of you is real. What with the boobs and the hair extensions and the nails, those girls have barely got any original parts.’
‘Also, I’m not a cow.’
‘Also, you’re not a cow. That was number three on my list.’
‘What was number two?’
‘You’re not named after a fruit or a type of wine.’
‘Maybe I should be.’
‘Listen, Meggie-poos, I don’t think that Cameron is really interested in Cherry-tart at all. Sometimes all that light bouncing off a cleavage just dazzles a boy temporarily. We all know that it’s you that Cameron wants.’
‘Really?’
‘Truly.’
‘If you could just get some proof of that, then I’ll be perfectly happy again.’
I won’t bore you with the details of how that crazy conversation ended. But basically Megs wants me to text Ethan to find out what Cameron is thinking.
As if Ethan and I have a great record when it comes to text messages.
As if our relationship has reached casual texting levels.
And, more to the point, as if boys tell each other what they’re thinking.
>
Granny came round for tea. I asked her, ‘Would you text a boy you sort of liked, but weren’t sure if he liked you?’
‘It’s hard for me to answer that question, Faith, because I’ve never been unsure of any of my gentlemen friends’ affection for me.’
Which means Granny has now knocked Icky off the top of my list of outrageously self-confident people.
Maybe I’m worried about looking too keen on Ethan. Actually, I suppose I am keen. I’m just not sure how much he likes me. Which I think is his worst quality. He seems to be all matey and laughs at my jokes, but then sometimes when we’re chatting together he just wanders off. I prefer my friends to hang on my every word.
Still all quiet at school. No more has been said about the bushes and Ramsbottom hasn’t had me arrested yet.
At lunchtime I was wondering what to do about speaking to Ethan, when I got a text from him. He said: Can I meet you to talk abt Cam and Megan?
Given everything that has happened, I wasn’t sure that sending me a text about meeting up was in very good taste, but at least it seems like he wants to sort out all this nonsense with Megs and Cam too. I didn’t want to seem over-enthusiastic to see him so I waited a while and then I replied: Ok. Where?
Two minutes later he answered: Juicy Lucy’s at 4?
So . . . I’ve sort of got a date to see Ethan. Even if it is to talk about someone else’s love life.
It’s not that I don’t trust Ethan, and obviously I now know that he had nothing to do with me looking like an idiot at the cinema, but that doesn’t mean that I have forgotten how stupid you appear when you hang about waiting for someone. I wanted to leave no room for anyone imagining that I had been stood up again. So, just to be on the safe side, I didn’t arrive at Juicy Lucy’s until quarter past four and secondly, I took along a little something to stop me looking lonely if Ethan didn’t show – Angharad.
When we got there Ethan was sitting by the door looking worried. He said, ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
I couldn’t resist smiling at him because he really did look quite pleased to see me.
I gave Angharad a look to let her know it was time to go.
She took a deep breath and said in a stilted voice, ‘I just came in for a takeaway milkshake.’ Then she walked towards the counter like she had a rod up her back. Good grief. In the film of my life I won’t be letting any of my friends play themselves. I’d just sat down when Ang popped back again and said in a loud whisper, ‘Actually, Faith, I don’t think I’ve got enough money for a milkshake, so is it OK if I just pretend my mum wants me to go home?’
Peering through my hands, which I had spread across my face to cover my fast-rising blush, I said, ‘Yes. Great. You do that. Lovely. Thanks for your discretion, Ang.’
Ethan was cracking up.
When Angharad had bumbled off and Ethan had stopped smirking he said, ‘Thanks for coming.’
I said, ‘Well, I had to do something about Megan.’
‘She’s got Cameron worked up. He says she’s gone all funny and hasn’t answered his text.’
‘What did he say?’
‘“What’s the matter?”’
I sighed. ‘That’s the wrong question.’
‘How is it the wrong question? He wants to know why Megan is acting all weird, so he asked her.’
‘He’s not supposed to ask. He’s supposed to know.’
‘What if he doesn’t?’
I felt a bit drained at this point. Explaining how to be human to boys is very tiring.
Ethan went on, ‘Listen, Cam isn’t very good at communication, but I know that he really likes Megan. I, as you know, am gifted at talking and also really quite intelligent. Why don’t you explain it to me and then I’ll see if I can make it clear to Cameron by comparing the situation to a football game. Or by beating him over the head with a stick.’
‘Cameron was keen on going to the St Mildred’s Christmas Fayre.’
He looked at me for a minute. Then he said slowly, ‘Is this about that plastic girl with the disappearing skirt? What was her name, Sherry?’
I nodded my head.
‘Really?’
‘He was gawping at her a bit.’
‘People gawp at woodland animals that have been run over. It’s not because they like what they see.’
‘So he doesn’t like her?’
‘Cameron likes Megan. Everybody knows that.’
‘He just needs to persuade Megs.’
‘Why don’t we all go bowling on Saturday? You ask your lot and I’ll get Cam, Elliot and Westy . . . Er, do you mind Westy being there?’
Strangely, I didn’t really mind.
‘Just tell him not to try any more tricks on me,’ I said.
‘I will. I really think that if Cameron and Megan spend some time together they’ll sort it out.’
For a boy, it was quite a good plan.
While we were talking it over we had smoothies and at one point (when I was telling him about sticking false eyebrows on all the safety glasses in Mrs Macready’s room), Ethan laughed so hard that fruit pulp came out of his nose.
Given that two weeks ago I swore I would hate him forever, I had a pretty good time.
I’ve spent so much time on Megan’s love life recently that I’ve not given enough thought to trying to beat the St Mingers (I mean, doing my bit for charity and helping the old people). I made the girls come round with me at lunchtime today to get some more volunteers. We got one Year Eight (I think she agreed so that we’d talk to her for a while, she seemed a bit friendless), plus Zoe’s sister and a group of Year Sevens.
I think the Year Sevens were scared of Lily. I may or may not have given them the impression that Lily can be violent when she’s angry. And I may or may not have suggested that indifference to old people is what really angers her.
It’s all in a good cause though, isn’t it?
Showing the St Mingers who’s boss.
After school I demonstrated how selfless I am once again, by braving the cold weather and going shopping for old-people gifts with Megs, Lily and Angharad. I took them to the pound shop and said, ‘Imagine you’re an old person. Now pile the things you would like for Christmas in the basket.’
We ended up with a tin of boiled sweets, hair dye, extra-strong support tights, chocolate coins, mouthwash and a large print crossword book.
I’m not sure who chose the exploding bangers and the satin boxer shorts, but I put them back. Lily chose a huge blister pack of bubble gum balls, but she’d eaten most of them by the time we’d got to the checkout, so I didn’t worry about it too much.
On the way home I saw Finn walking his puppy. He was on the other side of the roundabout to me so there wasn’t much opportunity for a chat. I jumped up and down and shrieked ‘FINN!’ for a bit and when he’d finally noticed me he gave me quite an enthusiastic wave. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?
I woke up this morning to find an elderly man in my bedroom. He claimed to be my father but it still gave me a nasty turn.
He said, ‘Faith, have you looked out your window?’
Had I looked out of my window? Oh, yes, when I am awoken at the unnecessary time of seven a.m. by a man who frankly ought to spend his mornings trying to spread his hair evenly over his shiny head, my first thought is to leap from my cosy nest and check that all is well with the world outside by peering out the window and perhaps throwing a cheery wave to those like-minded types who are also awake at such an unnatural time. This is what I was thinking, but luckily for my doddering father I was trying to remain mostly asleep so I only said, ‘No.’
‘It’s snowing!’
Well, that was good news, but really a reason to burrow further into the duvet, not to linger at windows and other draughty areas.
‘Brilliant. Wake me at ten with a full English.’ I pulled the covers over my head.
He said, ‘Faith, Just because it’s snowing it doesn’t mean you automatically get a day off.’
Good grief. I have told him about this. I really am quite good at tuning out his mindless babbling when it could interfere with important activities like sleeping, makeup application or looking attractive whilst sitting in his rusty car, but how can I be expected to ignore his raving when he says something as stupid as this?
So I said politely but firmly, ‘Yes it does, you pillock.’ I pulled the covers over my head again.
‘It’s really not that deep. I’m sure school will expect you to manage a little snow in pursuit of your education.’
‘Dad, you adults make these crazy rules for yourself about perseverance and never taking time off to watch antiques shows in your jammies, but there are a group of grown-ups who are smarter than the rest of you. They call them teachers. They fancy a long summer holiday, so they have one. If you ask them why they say, “It is for the children – they really need a break.” They don’t want to work the ridiculously long hours that you choose to, so they finish at three. If you ask them why they say, “It is for the children – their poor brains cannot cope with a long day.”’
Dad was twitching.
‘And if it snows they do not fancy getting their feet cold, so they close the school. If you ask them why they say, “It is for the poor children – they must not get their feet cold.”’
‘Yes, well, can’t say I’m regretting not entering the teaching profession if you’re an example of the modern pupil. Anyway, until we hear otherwise you need to get ready for school.’
I barely had time for an eye-roll before Mum wafted in.
‘Faith, the radio says your school is closed.’
‘Better make it half ten, Dad,’ I said and snuggled down.
I’ve had a super day. People would be so much happier if they weren’t separated from their duvets in winter. I’ve tried to reassure Dad that I won’t have missed anything today. Most of the teachers are handing out the Christmas word searches already. Hope school is closed tomorrow.
School is not closed. I am attempting to put my coat on over my duvet.
Didn’t quite manage to get the duvet under my coat, so I decided on the battered, floor-length fake-fur coat that hangs about like a dead bear in the cupboard under the stairs. It smells a bit musty, but it is very warm.